


never fall in love with a woman who sells herself

by rinthegreat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Courtesan!Mila, F/F, Moulin Rouge AU, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinthegreat/pseuds/rinthegreat
Summary: Sara leaves Naples with her brother in tow to discover the Bohemian revolution in Paris. She wants so bad to fall in love, but she never thought it would be like this.Moulin Rouge AU





	never fall in love with a woman who sells herself

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a longer AU but due to various reasons I am going to leave it as a single chapter one shot. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

“Wow,” Sara breathes as soon as she gets off the train to Paris. She turns this way and that, staring at the buildings reaching up around her. It looks exactly as she’d pictured it.

Her brother, on the other hand, doesn’t seem impressed. “Hmph,” Michele grunts as he gets off after her. “It’s grey.”

“Everything’s grey to you compared to Naples,” she tuts, gathering her bag. The conductor gives her a strange look, but Sara clutches it to her chest. She’d left Italy with only what she could carry, and carry it she will.

“That’s because Naples is the best place in the world,” Michele retorts. “You’ll see.”

“This is the center of the Bohemian revolution,” Sara reminds him for the thousandth time.

Michele is rolling his eyes. She knows that even though she can’t see him now that she’s stomped away from him.  “Yes, so you’ve said,” he responds dryly. “Freedom, beauty, and truth, right?”

“And love,” Sara reminds him. “Don’t forget that part.”

Michele snorts. “Love. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He doesn’t buy into the Bohemian ideology, she knows that. But that doesn’t mean she’s not going to get annoyed when he scoffs at them to her face. “Why are you here if you don’t believe in love?”

“To make sure you don’t get swept away in some sordid romance.” This time Sara is the one who snorts. “I’m serious,” Michele insists. “Some good for nothing Bohemian… _poet_ or some such nonsense will spin pretty words and the next thing you know, you’ll be dying from consumption.”

Sara laughs out loud. She stops in the middle of the busy train station and turns to him, heedless of the people parting around them. “Love is like oxygen,” she presses. “Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!”

He pats her on the shoulder. “You’ll see things my way in the end.” Michele turns and keeps walking out the train station.

“No, dear brother,” Sara murmurs. “You’ll be the one to see things _my_ way in the end.”

\---

Their apartment is a dirty, dingy place. Michele takes one look at the pair of lumpy mattresses and turns to her with a smirk. “Ready to leave, dearest sister?”

Sara heaves a deep sigh and throws her bag on the less lumpy of the two, ignoring the dust her action kicks up. “Quite the contrary. I could hardly soak up the Bohemian lifestyle without living in it.”

Michele doesn’t believe her, but she chooses to ignore him. If it’s to bother him, then she can do anything, even sleep on an uncomfortable mattress.

Sara steps around the beds and looks out the window. A large windmill is across the street, lit with strings of red lights. Behind it is a large golden building shaped like an elephant. Michele steps next to her, pulling aside the definitely dusty curtain. “What is that place?” he asks.

“That’s the Moulin Rouge,” a new voice answers.

Sara and her brother both turn to see a man standing in the entry to their small apartment. He’s cute, with his blonde hair and sparkling smile. “Hello,” he greets them both, stepping inside. “I’m Emil Nikola.”

Michele pushes in front of Sara, placing his hand in front of her protectively. “She’s not interested.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She steps forward, extending her hand. “Hi, Emil. I’m Sara, and the cold-hearted man behind me is my twin brother, Michele. He doesn’t speak for me, no matter how much he pretends to.”

Emil looks between them, bemused smile still present. “Ah…of course…” he agrees. “I live just upstairs,” he points above them, “and I heard that someone had moved in down here. I wanted to say hello.” Emil looks between the two of them. “Where are you from?”

“None of your business.”

“Naples.”

Sara and Michele answer at the same time. Michele turns and glares sharply at Sara, but she pretends to not see it.

“Ah, Italy right?” Emil asks happily. “I’ve always wanted to go there someday.”

“Don’t,” Michele grumbles.

Clearly, only one of them is sociable, and that’s Sara. “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Ah…here and there,” Emil replies, waving his hand. “Right now I’m from Paris, and if you want I’d be happy to show you around.”

“No,” Michele snaps.

“I’d love that,” Sara tells him sweetly. Poor Emil is going to get whiplash if he keeps looking between the two of them at the speed he is now. Her brother is a handful at the best of times, but she can feel his hackles raising more than usual with Emil. “I’d like to go there,” Sara points at the bright building. “What did you call it again?”

Emil raises his eyebrow. “The Moulin Rouge?”

“Yes.”

Michele steps forward, waving Emil out of the room. “Excuse me, I need a word with my sister alone.”

He shuts the door on Emil’s confused expression before turning to Sara with barely contained rage. “You’re not going to the Moulin Rouge.”

“Excuse me?” Sara huffs. “You don’t own me.”

“Do you know what happens at the Moulin Rouge?” Michele asks, stepping forward. He drops his voice to a whisper. “They have can-can dancers there.” He sounds absolutely scandalized.

“Sounds fun,” Sara shrugs.

“They’re _courtesans_ , Sara. They sell themselves to men for money.”

“Well,” Sara retorts. “Then it sounds like you don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to me. Maybe I should be concerned that you’re going to waste all our money there.”

Michele scoffs. “You’re not serious.”

Sara crosses her arms over her chest. “I see this going one of two ways, Mickey. Either you go with me and Emil to the Moulin Rouge, or Emil and I go alone.”

Michele drops his head. “I should never have agreed to let you come here.”

Sara stomps her foot on the floor. “See? That’s exactly my problem. This isn’t up to you. This is _my life_ , Mickey. And if I want to see can-can dancers at the Moulin Rouge, then you shouldn’t throw such a fit about it.”

He lifts his head as if it weighs a thousand pounds and stares at her wearily. “Please, Sara. I love you. Don’t make me worry.”

She almost feels bad for him. Almost. “Mickey,” she murmurs, stroking her cheek. “Go with me then.”

“Fine,” he agrees, standing completely. “But we do it my way.”

“And what –“

“ _Sara_.”

“Alright,” she concedes. “We do it your way.”

“Good.” Michele nods. He walks to his bed and rifles through his own bag, pulling out a set of clothes.

“What are you –“

“Put it on,” Michele says. “And don’t ask questions. I’ll be with that idiot outside.”

“These are men’s clothes,” Sara points out.

“Yes,” Michele replies, already pulling the door open. “I know.”

\---

The Moulin Rouge is bright, loud, and filled with people when the three of them arrive. The suit combined with her hair shoved inside a top hat are both extremely uncomfortable. She shifts the pants on her legs as they walk inside, and Michele smacks her hand away.

“Stop messing with it.”

“How do you walk in these?” she hisses. “They chafe.”

“I think you look nice,” Emil says, looking straight ahead and not at her. She steps to his other side, keeping him between herself and Michele. He’s nice; she likes him.

“Well that makes one of us,” she remarks.

Michele glares at both her and Emil. Really, he needs to be here more than she does at this point, if only to relax. He’s insanely stiff, shoulders firm and immobile. Sara knows he’s terrified she’s going to be forever tainted by seeing scantily clad women dance enticingly for men.

If only he knew what she and Antonio from next door did when she turned sixteen.

But that is neither here nor there. What’s important right now is that she’s _here_ , in Paris, pursuing her dream of finding herself and the truth of the world in the center of the Bohemian revolution. Dressing like a man to go inside is hardly a burden compared to that.

“Here,” Emil steps forward, gesturing at a table in the back. “Let’s sit and enjoy the show, shall we?”

Michele goes to it grudgingly, but Sara knows that’s only because the table Emil suggested is at the back that he goes at all. Ah well, she’ll still get a chance to see the show. She slides in next to Emil, keeping as much space between herself and her brother as she can. Just because she feels bad for him doesn’t mean she’s going to let him ruin her first night out in Paris.

No sooner do they sit down than a man with a ridiculous red suit trimmed in sparkling gold steps out onto the stage. “Gentlemen!” he shouts, and the crowd immediately hushes. “I am delighted to present to you my Diamond Dolls!”

Sara is sure the man has more to say, but his words are drowned out by the loud cheers and applause from the men in the crowd as a dozen or so women step out from behind the man wearing the brightest, most frilled dresses Sara’s ever seen. She leans forward in her seat as they all pose seductively, leaning on the walls and pillars around them.

And then the music starts.

The men in the audience seem completely unable to contain themselves every time the women expose so much as their ankles, and they expose _far_ more than that. The entire dance seems to revolve around them pretending to expose their crotches which are covered in equally bright, though differently colored than their dresses, underwear. It’s hardly elegant, but Sara’s delighted regardless.

Men, after all, are idiots.

And as the entertainment reaches its peak, the men at the other tables appearing to orgasm from sight alone, the lights dim. The music stops. And a spotlight appears in the center of the room. It takes Sara a moment, but Emil’s gasp beside her, alerts her to look up.

“That’s her,” he whispers reverently. “The Sparkling Diamond.”

And there, on a swing suspended from the ceiling, is a red haired woman dressed in a sparkling silver mini dress with a top hat covering her face. The entire crowd leans forward, entranced.

Sara is right there with them, nearly falling out of her seat, especially when the woman lowers from the ceiling, swinging in a long circle. She floats off the seat to raucous applause, clearly the main event for the night. She dances among the audience and across the stage, accompanied by the other dancers and even the man in the red suit.

Perhaps the most impressive part, Sara notes, is when the can-can dancers hold their skirts up, hiding her from view. They make a beautiful picture, like a flower with the best honey inside. When she reappears, Sara’s jaw drops open. Because she’s wearing a completely different outfit; this one has feathers as the skirt, and it is absolutely not something anyone could wear in public. Her feet don’t hit the floor at all, the men in the audience holding her aloft as she makes her way around the room. Sara follows her with her eyes, unable to tell where the woman is going but spellbound nonetheless.

Until the woman stops right in front of her.

“I believe you were expecting me,” she whispers, looking Sara directly in the eye.

Sara is speechless.

“I’m afraid the next dance is ladies choice,” the woman announces, whirling to face the audience. The men groan in unison, but the woman turns back to Sara. “Let’s dance.”

“Oh…” Sara breathes, but she takes the woman’s hand and is pulled onto the dance floor.

The thing is, Sara’s never really danced before. And it shows. The can-can dancers have chosen their partners as well, and each couple moves in a perfect unison. But here she is, with the most beautiful of all the women here, and she can’t manage to do anything but stare as the red haired woman dances in front of her.

She shifts around, smiling nervously, but gloved hands grab her shoulders and now she’s forced to at least _try_.

Sara thinks she’s getting the hang of things – just mirror the woman like the men seem to be doing – until the woman drops, dragging her hands down Sara’s stomach. She can’t help it; she gasps. When the woman stands again, she’s regarding Sara with a strange expression. She looks back and forth before leaning in.

“The door just behind me, do you see it?” she whispers. Sara looks for it before nodding. “After I disappear, go through it.”

She doesn’t have time to respond because the woman is back, pushing her away.

In fact, the entire dance floor has cleared away a space. The swing lowers itself again, and the woman Sara had just been dancing with lifts herself onto it. With a high kick and a wave, the swing raises itself back up, taking her away and leaving Sara with the feeling that she’d just hallucinated.

Perhaps Emil had slipped them some absinthe.

A quick pinch to her cheek reveals that she’s still real. She’s still here in the Moulin Rouge, standing stupidly in the center of the room while the can-can dancers have already moved onto their next performance.

The woman can’t have really meant to meet her after she disappeared, had she? Sara isn’t convinced she heard that correctly, but there’s only one way to find out.

She slips between the men in the crowd, getting jostled a few times. She manages to hold onto her hat at the very least and reaches the door in one piece. She glances behind her one last time before slipping through the door.

She’s grabbed immediately by someone on the other side.

“I’m so sorry,” Sara apologizes, panicking immediately before realizing the person who grabbed her is the woman from the swing. “Oh.” She’s already changed into something different, a black negligee over a matching corset.

The woman gives that same inscrutable expression. “Follow me,” she instructs, leaving no room for argument.

Sara follows her through the halls. It’s a maze back here. She’s positive they’ve turned left enough times that they should’ve made it back to where they started, but instead they’re in front of a staircase. The woman doesn’t pause, leading Sara all the way to the top, and all but shoves her into a room once they get there, slamming the door behind her.

“Take off your hat,” the woman orders.

“Excuse me?” Sara asks, still disoriented.

The woman huffs and steps forward, pulling the hat off her head. Immediately, Sara’s hair drops from where it had been held, surrounding her shoulders.

“I knew it! You’re a woman.”

“You have no right to take my hat!” Sara snaps.

“Well, you could’ve taken it off yourself when I asked,” the woman retorts.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I was trying to be inconspicuous.”

The woman snorts. “Really? Inconspicuous? Then _why_ are you masquerading as the duke?”

Sara frowns. “The duke?”

“You’ve been telling people that you’re the duke, have you not?”

“No?” Sara asks. “What are you talking about?”

That doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say. The woman clutches Sara’s hat to her chest, worrying her lower lip. “This is not good.”

“ _What_ is not good?” Sara demands. She steps forward, snapping her fingers under the woman’s nose. “Hey, I have a right to know.”

The woman snatches her wrist. “Watch it.”

“You’re the one who dragged _me_ up here, remember? Not the other way around,” Sara reminds her.

“Okay, you have to get out of here,” the woman insists, already pulling Sara to the door.

“Hang on –“

The woman yanks open the door before slamming it again almost immediately. “The duke!” she squeaks.

“What?”

“You have to hide.” She tugs Sara to the window, but the door clicks open behind them. The woman lets out another squeak and shoves Sara to the ground, holding out her negligee, as if that could hide her.

“Mila? Are you decent for the duke?” Sara pokes her head out from behind the woman’s legs to see the man in the red suit.

The woman – Mila – seems to sense her moving and nudges her back. “I was waiting,” Mila replies breathlessly. She shifts, shoving Sara towards a cart. Sara gets the picture and hides behind it.

“Dearest Duke Viktor,” the man says, “allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Mila.”

Sara risks looking out the opposite side of the cart to see a silver haired man standing in the doorway, smiling somewhat bewilderedly.

“Monsieur,” Mila purrs. “How wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit.”

The silver haired man – Viktor – is wearing a much nicer suit than the one Sara is in, she notes as he steps forward. Viktor looks over at the other man, fiddling with his top hat. “The pleasure, I fear, will be entirely mine,” he replies kindly.

“I’ll leave you two hamsters to get better acquainted,” the other man tells them both with a wink. “Ta-ta.” He leaves them, closing the door behind himself.

This is exactly what Michele had been afraid of. The women of the Moulin Rouge are known for being courtesans, and Sara is about to witness it first-hand.

She has to get out of here.

Viktor takes Mila’s hand and kisses her knuckles in a manner far too gentleman-y for someone about to pay for sex, in Sara’s opinion. “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,” he states.

“But diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” Mila finishes.

A code? This courtesan thing seems complicated.

No, she reminds herself, shaking her head. She needs to focus on escaping this room.

“Well,” Viktor says, clapping his hands together. “After tonight’s petty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need of refreshment.”

Shit.

He turns halfway towards where Sara is still crouched before Mila shrieks, “Don’t!”

Viktor freezes.

“…You…just… _love_ the view?” Mila finishes, shifting her hips in a way that is likely supposed to be sexy, but comes off as a little awkward to Sara. She forces her laughter down.

“Charming,” Viktor replies, turning back to where Sara _still hasn’t moved_.

“Oh!” Mila shrieks. And then, to Sara’s infinite delight, she starts swinging her negligee around. “I feel like dancing!”

Mila dances around the room, looking like an absolute moron, and Sara has to bury her face in her knee to keep from making any noise. This is _not_ what she pictured courtesans doing with their customers. Viktor doesn’t seem to think so either. He laughs nervously.

“I think I should like a glass of champagne,” he decides, and now Sara _knows_ her game is up.

“No!” Mila shrieks, pulling his attention once more. She sounds so desperate that Sara pops her head up to see what’s happening.

“It’s…It’s a little funny,” Mila stutters.

“What is?” Viktor asks, no longer sounding amused.

“This…” Mila stares at Sara, clearly needing help. _Feeling_ , Sara mouths. “Feeling,” Mila repeats. _Inside_ , Sara mouths again, pointing at her own chest. “Inside,” Mila parrots in a whisper that sounds more sinister than Sara had intended.

But she’s always wanted to try her hand at writing poetry, so what the hell. She continues whispering and miming, and Mila acts it all out for her.

“I’m not one of those who can easily…” Mila trails off, clearly needing help, but Sara is at a loss at how to finish the sentence. Viktor half turns, and Sara covers her face. “Hide!” Mila shouts.

Sara ducks under the cart, hoping she makes it in time. “I don’t have much money,” Mila continues, not needing Sara’s help anymore. “But if I did, oh, I’d buy a big house where we both could live.”

Now is her chance.

Sara creeps towards the door, but Mila hasn’t finished writing Sara’s poem. “I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words.” Sara stands up, turning back one last time and accidentally makes eye contact with Mila. “How wonderful life is now you’re in the world.”

Oh.

_Oh._

This is what the Bohemian ideals meant when they talked about love. Love is being unable to look away from the courtesan you just met who is standing in front of her customer. Love is being frozen despite knowing that you’re about to get caught by aforementioned customer. Love is agreeing wholeheartedly when Viktor says. “That’s very beautiful.”

His voice reminds her that she needs to leave, and Sara turns –

Only to slam immediately into the lamp with a heavy crash.

She leaps as it teeters over, managing to catch it just before it hits the ground. But the damage, unfortunately, has already been done.

“Who is this?” Viktor’s voice asks, the kindness from before gone.

The door swings open and two men – the man in the red suit and someone Sara has never seen before – burst in. “What’s going on?” The man in the red suit asks.

Sara stares up dumbly at Mila, wordlessly begging the courtesan to save her. “Oh…” Mila says, looking around. She smiles triumphantly, and Sara immediately knows that things are going to be alright. “I should’ve introduced you, Duke Viktor. This is our newest Diamond Doll.”

_What?_


End file.
